The Forlorn(34)

Two of his friends grabbed him and pulled the wide-eyed hunter away.

"I think," said Honest Clarence, his voice cracking slightly, "that we'd better be going, before that bunch get any drunker and stupider." As they left, a voice echoed after them.

"Run, you little desert turd. Run back to the desert. I'm going to foller you and cut your fucking throat."

"Phew," said Clarence. "You handled yourself well, youngster. What did you say your name was?"

"I didn't. It's Keilin . . . Skyann."

The jewel buyer looked at him with some surprise. "Proper chip off the old block you are. Well, young Skyann, have a good night with Lucy's girls. Tomas'll pass out in a few minutes, and it'll be at least ten tomorrow before he even thinks about hunting you again. I suppose, like the ol' fellow, you'll leave all the trouble you've made behind you, and be back over the pass by then. Come an' see me when you're next in town. Even if you're a damn sight too sharp a trader, it's been good doing business with you."

"Actually, I'm going west. How far is Shapstone?"

"Matter of four hundred miles or so. But there's nothing but Morkth there now," Clarence said, his surprise showing.

"Good." Keilin's face was far grimmer than it had been when dealing with the hunter.

It was only after the jewel buyer had turned aside to his own home that Keilin allowed his control to slip. He felt himself start to shake.





CHAPTER 7


Trees. And bloody rain. Trees to get in your way, and rain to wet you. This was how Keilin would have described the western side of the mountains now. It never occurred to him that this place looked very like the pictures he had once daydreamed over. On the other hand, the homesteads and travellers along the road would have described his thieving passage as a plague. The truth to tell, the boy-man was getting cocky. The Westerners were mud-soft. And there was no Marou to cut him down to size.

He'd spotted the hidden fire quite easily. Yes, whoever it was had bothered to hide deep in the woods, and had built it in a hollow where the light could not be seen, but they'd used pine. He could smell it a mile off. He moved closer, slipping silently from tree to tree. Perhaps a wary target would be more of a challenge.

The sleeper wrapped in the tatty blanket did not stir as Keilin went through the meager possessions in the bag. What?! There was no food. Not a damn crumb. But wait . . . what was this lot? His expert fingers read the shape and nature of the bangles. Gold! He was about to relieve the traveller of a few on principle when his fingers encountered another thing. A familiar oily coldness. It was so unexpected that he gave a small gasp. He looked across at the sleeper whose face was now clearly visible in the moonlight, to see if he reacted. And saw his victim was female, young, and by the looks of it, starving. Also, if the disturbance in the dirt on her face was anything to judge by, she'd gone to sleep crying.

It pulled at a cord in Keilin's innermost being. He remembered his own flight and desperation. If she too had one of the stones, perhaps she was as much a victim as he was. Also . . . he had a not insubstantial interest in girls. His brain suggested leaving her and her troubles strictly alone, but his glands called for a more chivalrous gesture. As Keilin was a physically normal young male, his glands won without any effort.

He had a generous amount of the country's finest provender, liberated from a wide selection of now irate citizens, stashed relatively nearby in his kit. Ten minutes later he was back, building up the fire and frying some succulent slices of a stolen side of bacon in a stolen pan.

Her awakening was amusing. Her nose literally twitched as the food smell plucked at it. A small tongue licked out catlike across her lips. Its effect on Keilin's glands was nearly tectonic. However, her reaction on seeing him failed to live up to Keilin's romantic expectations.

She sat up, bleary eyed, took one look at him, scrambled to her feet, and ran. He sat stunned for a moment before taking off after her. "Oi! Come back! I won't hurt you!"

He'd run in the hunt after desert gazelle. She'd had the rapid pursuit of a waddling bee wife for the last nine months. It was not much of a chase. She stood, panting, her back to the rough bark of the tree she'd been trying to climb, broken dagger in front of her. "Come . . . one . . . step nearer, I'll . . . kill you." Her eyes were wild enough to suggest she really meant it.

Keilin was thoroughly irritated by the shattering of his illusions. He'd thought she'd be pleased to see someone, especially with dinner. But the fear in her voice drew sympathy from him too. "The bacon's burning, you daft little girl. Stop being so stupid. I just saw you didn't have any food, so I was cooking some for you. I'm going back to see if I can save that bacon." He turned and walked back. Behind him resentment vied with fear and hunger. One should not call a princess, or possibly anyone, a "daft little girl" on first meeting. It never gets a relationship off to a good start.